“Here you are, sir. I took the liberty of adding sugar and cream.”
Frederick usually took neither, but he simply thanked the constable, his mind on other things.
Recalling the younger man’s errand, he roused himself to ask, “How were things at the bakery?”
“Good, good.” Brixton sat, legs sprawled in front of him. “So. About Miss Lane.”
Frederick looked up sharply. “What about her?”
“Well, it seems to me we have a reliable witness who saw a gentleman enter her room, apparently with her permission, the night before Mr. Oliver’s death. Yet the young lady denies it.”
“Miss Lane denies it?” Frederick echoed, voice tight.
“Yes, sir. I took the liberty of stopping by her room before I went out. I asked her in confidence, and—don’t worry—with due respect.”
You take a lot of liberties, Frederick thought acidly but held his tongue. The man was only trying to do his job.
The constable went on, “With the inquest going on, and us with a lad who is pretty certain of what he saw ... well, it’s dashed awkward. One doesn’t like to doubt the word of a respectable young lady—not without strong proof to the contrary.”
“And she denied having a man in her room?” Frederick mulishly repeated.
“Yes, sir, as distinct as could be. I wonder if we ought to report it to the coroner. He might want to question her to see if she or this man knows something about Mr. Oliver’s death. But I thought I should ask your advice first, both as magistrate and as the gentleman who got me elected in the first place.”
Frederick attempted a light tone. “Perhaps you are regretting that now?”
The constable shrugged and looked down. “A bit.”
Suddenly Brixton eyed him again. “She said you gave her permission to leave the hotel?”
Warily, Frederick replied, “Yes....”
“She also said something about Ambrose Oliver knocking on her door that night, but that sounds farfetched to me.”
“That’s right!” Frederick affirmed, the tightness in his chest easing. “He did. I saw him myself. Though I believe it waslater than Billy reported. And he certainly did not go inside. I heard him at her door, asked him to return to his own room, and waited until he left.”
“What did he want?”
“He’d been drinking, and Miss Lane is a young woman on her own. What do you think he wanted?”
“Ah.”
“That must have been who Billy saw, and he confused the time. The man did make a spectacle of himself. And since Billy never met Mr. Oliver, he would not have recognized him.”
“But the lad distinctly said he saw a man gointoMiss Lane’s room.”
“I know what he said, but people make mistakes.”
In his heart, Frederick knew Miss Lane was lying or at least hiding something.Hadshe entertained a man in her room at night? What would happen to her good name if she was questioned about it during the inquest? It would likely provide no evidence about Mr. Oliver but would damage her reputation beyond repair.
No. She would not be summoned to the inquest if he could prevent it. And if he was wrong, he would take the blame.
The girl he had long held affection for, as well as her honored father, should be protected from scandal and shame; and shame it would be either way—to confess the truth or to pledge herself to a lie.
He squared his shoulders. “At all events, you were right to speak to me first. Don’t go to the coroner with this.”
Brixton hesitated, expression somber. “If you think it best, sir.”
“I do. We have no evidence that this is related to the Oliver case, and it is outside the coroner’s mandate of determining cause of death. Take no further steps and tell no one to avoidinjuring the lady’s reputation unjustly. I shall speak to her in confidence about the matter. And if it turns out to be somehow related, I will report it to the justices myself. But for now, leave it and any recriminations with me.”
